Kiokkō
Discarded by his parents after being born disfigured. Kiokkō was left alone in the deserts at night. His poor and disfigured body unable to move due to lacking limbs and barely capable of producing a audible sound. Plagued by the many insects which scavenged the endless sand. His introduction to this world was but a feint experience of what horror was to come. When all hope looked to be lost the infant was found by a old puppeteer who owned a low-rate puppet shop not belonging to any family of reputable renown. This man, also known as the old master, helped fix Kiokkō up with wooden prosthetics little more sophisticated than the wooden limbs used to build puppets. Growing up, Kiokkō spent his time guarding the old master’s workshop, joining the old man on desert hunting trips, and, training with the sword. During these sessions he found himself facing one of the many crooked puppets wielded by the old master. Puppet’s he was ridiculed for but swore by. And seeing how they had no soul it was impossible for Kiokkō to detect them which led to him being beaten up time after time again without being capable of the slightest resistance. It wasn’t until after several months of enduring this that the young boy finally began to awaken a sense which few shinobi managed to tap into, let alone as deeply as Kiokkō came to do. Being deprived from many of his other senses had proven a blessing in disguise at this new revelation of spatial awareness and spatial memory, as they couldn’t distract him from what soon revealed itself to be one of Kiokkō’s greatest talents. The first time he awareness kicked in was one of the most painful experiences of his life, far more painful than the many hardships he had faced in his young life. Met by the vibrations of a fast moving training dummy heading towards him Kiokkō experienced said vibrations as a continuous high pitched screech echoing through his very being and numbing him with pain. But it only grew worse as he became aware of the wind, his master’s footsteps through the sand, breathing, and, even the movement of sand. It was all so overwhelmingly horrible that he couldn’t resist fainting. It took several of these episodes for the youth to start becoming used to these new sensations and growing able to endure them without blacking out. It took a lot more time for him to learn how to separate the sensations of these vibrations even when experiencing multiple at once. To understand the subtleties and variations which could exist in something as simple as a blade of grass moved by wind. During this time, he advanced faster than the old master had ever anticipated. Even while facing more than one of the puppets wielding lethal blades, Kiokkō emerged victorious. Effortlessly dismantling his lifeless opponents time after time only for the old master to rebuild them stronger and fitted with new upgrades which, in turn, often left Kiokkō damaged and scarred; requiring at least an equal amount of rebuilding and maintenance. But this, the old master never seemed to mind as his soul always felt most comfortable during these times spent in the workshop. It hadn’t taken more than a year ever since Kiokkō had shown signs of becoming a talented fighter, for a passing shinobi to pick up on the puppet child without strings fighting off a pair of much larger puppets equipped with large axes. At first blaming the old master of practicing kinjutsu to bring the puppet to life, they almost brought the man in for questioning but were stopped by Kiokkō taking off his mask to reveal his grotesque yet human face. Saving the old master’s fate, Kiokkō himself was brought in for questioning and inspection instead. The child was no older than six and incapable of communicating with anyone other than the old master through specific touches and a ‘natural feeling of familiarity’ which grew naturally over the years. And as such could not even voice his resistance as he was taken apart and put back together multiple times. He mouth often opened but he couldn’t produce anything louder than the faintest moans while trying to cry out with all of his might. The pain was pure torture and he had been awake through it all. His mind numbed and tormented by the time it came to end after a period of two weeks. They had never even bothered to properly assemble him before returning him to the old master in a wooden crate, together with a few of his prosthetic limbs. This was the first and only time that the old master had hugged the boy. And the first and only time that Kiokkō felt like he was understood by anyone in this world. He felt warm, safe, if only for those moments as it soon became clear that fate held more strife in store. Having been labelled as a living weapon by the village of Sunagakure, the old master was forced to borrow Kiokkō to any Sunagakure Shinobi who required assistance of the the six year old ‘tool of war’. He had gone out on many missions and excursions, scouting and patrolling, while ever silent and following his commands which were given through small notes written upon with a thick ink; allowing Kiokkō to trace the lines on the paper, which he also grew to learn to replicate. Though his vocabulary never grew much further than the bare essentials, nor ever required to understand more than simple commands. “Kill” being the most prominent. Kiokkō often returned back home disfigured and broken, if capable of coming back home at all. If not being back by the time the other shinobi returned, the old master knew enough. After all, the shinobi truly saw Kiokkō as nothing more than a tool. And a broken tool was not worth bringing back when one’s life was at stake in enemy territory. Even so the puppeteer always went to find Kiokkō and always performed his repairs dutifully. However, one stroke of bad luck had been enough during another episode of Kiokkō having been abandoned and the old master having set out to reclaim and repair the boy. Misfortune had struck as the man had found himself intercepted by the very same enemies who had taken down the Sunagakure squad Kiokkō had originally set out with; as seen by the half doen stolen headbands which they carried triumphantly as tokens of war and proof of the heads they claimed. Meanwhile the crippled boy laid alone in the sand. His mask cracked and broken and each of his prosthetics ruined and scattered around him. With no chance of survival he found the hot sun tormenting his skin without being capable of so much as turning around to relief himself of the excruciating pain, if only temporarily. He couldn’t help but wonder why the old man had not come for him? Was he just like the others who paid him no mind and left him as easily as a kunai? Had the master finally given up like all others had? Was he finally truly abandoned? He wanted to give up, he really did. However Kiokkō couldn’t fight off the urge of wishing to enjoy the sun rather than suffer beneath it. As insects crawled into the bleeding wounds from where his limbs had been torn off his stumps he began making spastic motions without result. He felt so powerless. So alone. And so the boy cried without tears accompanied by the most hollow of sounds pulsating from his mouth like the fearful noise of a stray dog. His sorrow drowned only by the desert’s endless embrace. Gritting his teeth he began to muster all of his strength. It wasn’t easy but he finally managed to roll onto his torso before shifting his way through the sand. Crossing mere yards took him several days. The nights providing no rest as he almost found himself buried twice. Still, he was without relent until he reached one of his dismembered arms. He proceeded to gnaw with what little teeth he had, biting through his former prosthetic arm as splinters tore at his mouth and left a bloody mess filled with bits and pieces of wood stabbing into his flesh: sending flares of pain through his body with every breath. All this to free the blade still stuck in his dismembered arm. The only tool available to him. He felt the touch of steel bring a sense of relief which was quickly replaced by a sense of impending doom. Still, he shrugged it off and tilted his head sideways before using the broken blade clamped in his mouth as an anchor to drag himself forward. It had taken him over a month to return to Sunagakure during which time the only other people he met was a group of merchants who merely laughed at him and kicked sand into the festering wounds on his exposed face. Still, his persistence had paid off as he had made it back home; arriving in the dead of night. The old master was nowhere to be seen. Now the boy was all alone. He spent the next weeks hoping for the puppeteer to return. Only for each day to turn into further disappointment. His wounds weren’t starting to feel any better and he knew that no one else would look after him. If left untreated, surely the infections would claim his life. As such he was forced to tend to himself. This in itself was a near impossible task, especially given his state. However, through sheer ingenuity and determination, as well as drawing on his past teachings, the boy managed to attach onto himself a very crude puppet arm which he had previously detached from one of the master’s old puppets. It wasn’t much but it responded well. Finally Kiokkō had something other than his mouth to work with. It was a long struggle for him to re-assemble himself piece by piece even with the plethora of parts left in the puppeteer’s shop. It took him a good year or two in order to get himself back to somewhat of a ‘functioning’ state. Having to do it all by touch, memory and spatial awareness, without sight or sound to rely on, had proven to be an arduous task but the youth had learned a lot during this period; especially through the disassembly of his master’s old puppets. During all this time he had only grown further disconnected from society. Yet, even so, at a mere Eleven years old, Kiokkō still bore no ill will towards humanity even after everything he had suffered through. His only wish was that he would not be hated simply for being who he was. Twelve years old, the boy found himself called by destiny after returning home from a late night hunting. As he made his way back he felt a nauseating sensation. Not much further ahead he recognized the souls of the group of merchants who disgraced him all those many years ago as he neared towards the end of the cleft leading into Sunagakure. However, that wasn’t all as he noticed them being cornered by a small horde of ferocious red colored souls. These red souls felt different to most beings which roamed this world. And his worst suspicions were confirmed by the vibrations emanating from their wicked, four-legged, forms, and, the wind brushing past their rugged and blood-clotted fur. His spatial awareness painted a picture which was food for a lifetime of nightmares. Furthermore, their souls were emanating a deep bloodlust. So it was easy for him to understand why the merchants were all frozen solid by fear. Soon joined in their state of paralyzed perplexity by the guardsmen who quickly approached the scene only to wish they hadn’t upon coming face to face with the pack of monsters. However, Kiokkō moved without second thought. The battle had been gruesome and ferocious but the boy was forged by hardship and relentless, and, as such not easily subdued by the notion of such detrimental odds. He was seen brutally carving through flesh and bone for over an hour long without so much as a moment’s rest. And finally stood a sole victor amidst a large pond of blood and guts. The spectacle had been observed by multiple shinobi and civilian alike as well as the stupefied group of merchants who did not recognize their saviour and quickly moved on with their lives without so much of a thank you. Yet for the first time in his life, the boy felt the sensation of praise. A small, but notable stream of vibrations produced by clapping hands trickled over his skin like rays of sunlight did during his dreams; dreams where he was like all others. But all applause came to an immediate end when morning sun came to rise. With its ascendance casting a light through the cleft’s cliff faces and illuminating the puppet without strings who stood before them. He could feel it immediately, a complete shift in the atmosphere upon them becoming aware of his form no longer clad by night. Now, instead of praise, he felt something else directed towards. Now, those gathered perceived him with the same fear as they had born towards those monsters. To these people he was nothing more than just that, a monster.' He wondered what had happened to the old master. Perhaps one day he could thank the man. Personality Traits Kiokko is ‘capable’ of writing albeit at the level of a six or seven year old. He can read through touching the lines of kanji but does so at a very slow pace. Strangely enough he seems to be at peace during such moments. Although he is incapable of speech and any form of regular communication, and, even unable to share the delights of shared visuals, Kiokkō is not without a personality. The biggest issue is that life has done everything within its capacity to squirm the very last drop of it out of the boy's soul. Still he carries a deep sense of empathy for all living beings, especially for those souls which are filled with love. Likes Writing Sitting outside without his mask to feel the wind on his face Dislikes Cruelty Being different Hot drinks Abilities ''Spatial Awareness - Kiokkō is highly sensitive to vibrations and capable of separating their sources of origin in such a delicate manner that he can find the many correlations and intricate differences between said sources. These include, but are not limited to, vibrations moving through the air, and, vibrations travelling across the ground. The range of this 'sphere' of awareness is limited, growing in size the more Kiokkō becomes familiar with his unique sense. Currently the radius of his spatial awareness spans 5 yards, regarding precise awareness. (precise awareness meaning he knows exactly what is going on around him and is capable of reaction to it just like a person with regular senses, if not faster; under certain circumstances such as fighting in the dark which doesn't debilitate him.) The radius of his spatial awareness spans 20 yards outside of the aforementioned 5 yards, regarding inaccurate awareness. (Inaccurate awareness meaning he cannot say exactly what source is producing which vibration, nor give more than a rough estimate of where it's coming from.) The way in which his body experiences and interprets these vibrations is reminiscent to musical notes produces by instruments. To him, a explosion 'sounds' like a horrifying series of loud and sharp clipping notes that claw at the inside of his skin with agony, whereas the wings of a butterfly in flight 'sounds' like the soft notes of a chime playing with beauty in a way that fills him with a sense of joy. Soul Sight - Although born blind, Kiokkō was not born in a world of darkness. He can perceive the souls of all living beings. Each soul bears its own unique colors which may vary based on someones emotion. This helps him understand who is friend and foe, even in a moments notice. Furthermore, after spending a increased amount of time around people, their soul 'speaks to him' in the sense of communicating to his intuition; allowing him to gain a feel for what people want from him, or want to say to him. Power Score Library Casuals * Events * Fights * Missions * Training *